“The she-wolves are sequestered to block them from the male pheromones in order to keep them from going into heat outside of trials.” Fenrir Prime kept his burn neutral. “And the males are refining their social skills by the day. I have no doubt the advanced civilization my progenitor predicted will come to pass.”
“No doubt, and also no evidence,” the Huntmaster pointed out with a disparaging look around the facility he and the variants had built for their study of the hybrids.
In his peripheral, Fenrir Prime could sense Omicron shifting uncomfortably. He and his variants were deeply aware that Dorie had been left alone in Fenrir Prime’s sleeping quarters, an unlocked room she could easily escape.
Who knew how long it would take to hunt her down. And tonight marked the rise of the first full moons since her arrival. They were running out of time.
“I extend my apologies once again for the report in duplicate.” Instead of arguing with the midnight-blue dragon, Fenrir Prime bowed to the Huntmaster. “Do you wish for me to fly to your father’s station to apologize?”
“That will not be necessary. I will include your apology in my own report about how there has been no substantial evidence to support your progenitor’s claim.”
Fenrir Prime bore down on the inside of his snout to keep steam from escaping. He could not say he condoned Fenrir Zero’s eventual actions, but he understood them.
This mission to determine species viability was little more than pageantry. Every cycle, Fenrir Prime began to believe more fervently that the new king of Drakkon had assigned his cousin, brother, and uncle to the mission to ensure its demise—not as a sign of respect for the Royal Geneticist’s valid concerns about hunting humans for food.
Every cycle, Fenrir Prime fought for his progenitor’s cause anyway.
But his suspicions around its futility only rose when the Huntmaster proclaimed, “You will choose two she-wolves and two males of good breeding and have a variant transport them to Zone 2 for training. I want at least one thousand wolves for eachrotation we are being forced to undertake on this mission, and I have recently lost one of my father wolves.”
Funny how often his wolves needed replacing. Fenrir Prime ground his fangs, endeavoring not to let the Huntmaster see how very much Fenrir Prime despised him.
For the sake of ending this surprise inspection, he simply answered, “Of course. Upsilon looks forward to the visit.”
“I care not for the feelings of your variant, only that he do his job as commanded.” The Huntmaster looked Upsilon up and down with undisguised disgust. “Make sure he is fed beforehand. I will not use my wolves to provide him with sustenance. But should you ever want to visit, Mission Geneticist, you will be treated to a delightful dinner. I know it is quite indulgent, but I trained the hybrids to provide a serving of hominids for all my last meals.”
The Huntmaster was well aware that, like his progenitor, Fenrir Prime did not eat the hominids they were endeavoring to save.
The words landed like a claw dragged slowly across stone.
Behind the midnight-blue dragon, Diarmuid’s head flame flashed red. If the Huntmaster’s death in their Zone wouldn’t have aroused suspicion from the rest of the mission team, no doubt he and his variants would have worked together to ash him.
All three of them dreamed of his death. Especially now as he kept them from getting back to Dorie.
“They are quite good at ritual sacrifice, these hybrids,” the Huntmaster continued on, despite Fenrir Prime’s lack of answer. “Was that quality bred into them, I wonder?”
“Worship and sacrifice to gods is a natural inclination of their hominid side. But yes, I heightened it in the species.”
The Huntmaster’s eye ridge lifted. “You mean to sayyourprogenitorheightened it.”
Fenrir Prime’s tail curled. This was how far Dorie 1000 had thrown him off-kilter. He had almost given away that he was still bioengineering the hybrids when he was merely supposed to be observing them without interference for the report.
“Of course, I meant Fenrir Zero.” Fenrir Prime thanked the fire star he was not a variant, and therefore capable of lying.
With one more contemptuous sweep of his golden eyes, the Huntmaster launched himself into the sky. The wind from his wings flattened the grass for fifty yards in every direction.
“Do not take your leave yet,” Fenrir Prime warned Omicron when he prepared to do the same. “He will find it curious if we return so quickly to the Eastern Station. Wait until he is no longer visible on the horizon.”
A thin whistle of steam escaped Omicron’s nostrils, as if waiting the few wingbeats of time until the Huntmaster was beyond the sight line was the second hardest thing his prime had ever asked of him—behind not catching Dorie. “Dorcas must be so confused and hungry. This is the time I usually catch our last meal.”
Also, she does not yet know about the effects of the two moons, Fenrir Prime thought.
To Omicron, he said, “This is why you should not have caught her. This is a disaster of your own making. We had a chance to end this entanglement, and you ruined it….”
Omicron hung his head. Which was the right response.
But then he murmured, “We kissed her this morn.”
For the first time since Fenrir Prime landed to take over the conversation with the Huntmaster, Upsilon spoke. “So did we.”
